Children of the Night
by blown-transistor
Summary: She is an immortal. She finds Erik three years after the infamous fire. After they become unlikely allies, what more will they become?
1. Disclaimer, Author's Note, Chapter 1

**Disclaimer and Author's Note:**

First and foremost, I do not own anything relating to _The Phantom of the Opera_. Those rights belong to…well, whomever owns them (Leroux, Webber, etc). The Phantom in this story will be based on (appearance-wise, anyway) the 2004 movie Phantom played by Gerard Butler.

Also, as one will quickly learn from reading even the first chapter of this story, one of my original characters (the principle original character) in this story is a vampire. She is a vampire of my own design. With her, I am going to stay away from the worn out _Dracula_-esque vampires and their heartless, evil, and bloodthirsty tendencies. She will have emotions and the ability to show them, and even at times have little shreds of humanity that come out.

This is my first Phan-fic. Please review and let me know if I'm hitting close to the mark with this. I am a relatively new-comer to the world of Phan-dom. I was drawn in by some friends when the 2004 ALW movie version came out. Since then, I have: read the novel, seen the play at Her Majesty's in London, and purchased the book in it's original French in Paris (I took French for four years). I do admit that I like the play better than the movie at times, but the movie version is very accessible to me right now. If I get something _completely_ wrong, please tell me.

I have written many other stories (none of which are up here on and I know that writers need reviews. I leave them for others, so I would ask that you kind people leave some for me to let me know what kind of job I'm doing with this.

Okay, I've gone on long enough. On with the story.

--Jen

Chapter 1 

"_She's a monster! She's a monster!"_

"_No! I don't know what's wrong with me… Leave me alone!"_

"_We must put her to death before her evil spreads, m'lady!"_

"_I will not condemn my own daughter to death on the word of a few slaves. I will, however, send her away…"_

"_No, mother, don't. Please."_

"_At the will of your father, you are hereby banished…"_

"_Mother, you cannot!"_

"_I have no other choice, Margaret. You are hereby banished from this manor and from all of England. I do not know what manner of evil has come upon you, but you will not spread it here…"_

Casually wiping her mouth with a white handkerchief, Margaret began to head home. She pushed a tendril of her blonde curls that had fallen out of the knot at the back of her head behind her ear. Another thief had been removed, temporarily at least, from the streets of Paris at her hand. Her face bore a look of satisfaction, the taste of his blood lingered in her mouth. She ran her tongue over her teeth. Her long, sharp, white teeth shone under the Parisian moon.

As she came to the front door of the Opéra Populaire, she lurked in the shadows for a moment to be sure that no one was following her. When she opened the door, she heard two people talking inside.

"What do you think happened to The Phantom of the Opera."

"The fire was three years ago. I thought he died in the fire."

"That Daaé girl made it, didn't she? I heard that he took her down to the underworld with him. If she lived, then he must have… Why are we talking about this anyway?"

"I read in the paper this morning that someone's going to start renovating this place tomorrow. I was just wondering whether or not The Phantom would come back."

Margaret sighed. _Renovated? They'll discover my coffin. Note to self: move coffin._

"Damn, Jacques, it's almost eleven. The wife'll kill me when I get home. Stayed out too late again."

"Mine's visiting her sister in Orleans."

"Lucky."

The two men, both in their mid-thirties began to walk to the door, and right past Margaret without even noticing her.

As soon as they were out of sight, she headed back to her coffin in the old, burned out orchestra pit. "Time to find another place to put this." Single-handedly, she picked up the large sarcophagus and hoisted it up to where it rested on her shoulder. Then, she knelt down and picked up a trunk with her other hand. "A cellar here would be nice…"


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"Good Lord, these people sure didn't believe in conspicuous staircases to the cellar, did they?" Margaret put down her coffin and trunk in front of yet another burnt-out room. "Dressing room looks nice enough. Well, it would if there wasn't all this smoke damage in here."

All around the room the deep red wallpaper covered in tiny flowers was peeling off the walls. Candlesticks lay strewn about across a vanity, the candles long melted away.

"Looks like a promising place to put a coffin, but they'll be redoing this room."

Suddenly, a glimmer of light caught a large wall mirror in the back of the room as she began to leave.

"How could I not have noticed that mirror? It's half the bloody wall." She examined her reflection in the mirror. "Missed a spot," she said quickly when she noticed that she failed to get all the remnants of her last meal off her face.

When she turned to go a second time, she noticed a gap between the old mirror and the frame tarnished by the heat of the fire. Returning to the wall, she ran her long, thin fingers next to the gap and felt a breeze. Then, with some effort, she forced the mirror further away from the frame, widening the gap.

"Nice tunnel. Maybe this is a shortcut to the cellar." Picking up her worn, blue trunk and coffin, she trudged down the damp and dark tunnel behind the mirror.

"Damn my temper. Smash all those mirrors, and three years later I'm still finding glass everywhere." Bending down to pick up another shard of glass from the stone floor of his home, he shook his head.

It had indeed been three years since the performance of _Don Juan Triumphant_, the fire, and Christine had left him. He had managed to restore his lair to pretty much it's pre-mob hunt days, but some things that were damaged that were more difficult to repair and were still not quite perfect.

"Why can't there be a boat or something down here for a lady to put her luggage?" Shaking her head, Margaret continued on through the chilly and murky water.

Shortly, she came to a gate that seemed to descend from the damp, stony ceiling. She paused momentarily before knocking. _What is coming from the other side of this thing? It sounds like an organ…_ She shook her head and kicked the gate, not having a free hand to properly knock. She put her coffin down on a ledge so as not to frighten whomever was on the other side of the gate.

_They've found me again!_ Grabbing his sword from behind the organ, he cautiously flipped the switch to open the gate. He was shocked when he saw a lone woman standing in the lake.

"Finally," she started.

He eyed her suspiciously. _She looks innocent enough. Blonde hair, blue eyes, only about twenty-five years old… But someone might have sent her down here…_

"Good evening, monsieur," Margaret greeted, her English accent showing through.

"And what might I do for someone such as yourself? You shouldn't be wandering up in the theater."

"Because you might kill me with that sword?"

He grew irritated and put the sword away. "Can I do something for you?"

"Yes, actually, you can. My home is going to be destroyed tomorrow, and I need a temporary place to stay."

"And you wandered through a burned-out opera house to find a place to live?"

"Monsieur, the opera house is my home."

"What?"

"I live in the orchestra pit."

_So that's what that infernal scratching noise was._ "Why would you live in there? Don't you have a house? A family?"

"I haven't had a house in twenty years or a family in a little over three _hundred_ years."

"What?"

She picked up her coffin again. "I just need a small corner…"

He pulled out his sword again. "Why do you have a coffin?"

"Don't worry." She began walking towards the steps leading out of the lake. "There's not a dead body in it…yet." Margaret set the coffin and trunk down at the top of the steps. "No, I'm not here to kill you. This coffin isn't for you."

"Then whose is it?"

"It's mine."

"What?"

Smoothing down her blonde curls, she walked closer to him. Her blue orbs were almost glowing.

"What are you?"

She smiled. "You have your 'Music of the Night', I am a creature of the night."

A thousand questions filled his mind all at the same moment. "I don't believe you."

"I suggest you start believing." Casually approaching him, Margaret reached out and grabbed his white button-down shirt. Effortlessly, she lifted him off the ground and held him above her head. She stared at him intently before opening her mouth, showing her sharp teeth.

His heart began to pound and his breaths came in shorter bursts.

"Now, would you permit me, kind sir, to use a small corner of your humble home here to store my belongings and use as temporary lodging?" she asked politely.

He was speechless, but managed a nod.

"Thank you." She put him down. "I was quite happy upstairs, but they're going to start renovating up there. I can't have them discovering me."

"Renovating?"

"That's what the guy said." She sighed. "I am going to be blunt with you. I've found it's the best way to get through to people." She placed her coffin and trunk down in a small room at the other end of the hallway leading off to the right of the organ.

"Who are you?" he finally asked.

"My name, sir, is Margaret Constance Darcy. I was born in York, England in 1502. Officially made the way I am—1527. Every night, with the exception of those that I chose to sleep through, I have awakened at sunset and drained the blood of a mortal or two. _Je suis vampire_."

He clutched his throat and began to search for something to kill her with.

As she laughed at him, she casually dusted off her black dress. "Don't even bother going for the wooden stake, the crucifix, or the garlic, monsieur. They don't work."

He looked back at her, sweat pouring down between his white half-mask and his face.

"Don't worry. I never kill my hosts, unless they do something to _really_ anger me. Thank you. With that settled, I think I am going to retire now. Tomorrow night, I will go out, I think. That walk down here tired me so." She opened her coffin again and climbed in. "Goodnight, Monsieur Erik," she said as she closed the lid.

_How did she know my name? Or about "Music of the Night"? Or about the,_


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

When Margaret awoke the next evening, she saw Erik, her new host, sitting at his organ. She pulled a crimson colored dress from her trunk. "Evening, monsieur. Might you have a place where a lady could freshen up before a night out?"

He nodded and pointed to the small door across the way from her coffin.

"Thank you," she replied with a smile as she went in. Emerging a few moments later clad in her clean dress, her blonde curls up in a neat bun, she quickly pulled up a chair next to the organ bench.

Erik jumped at the sound of the chair hitting the ground.

"I would like to apologize for my behavior last night. I admit that I was very rude in just barging in and going to sleep in my coffin like I did." She extended her cold, pale hand. "I'd like to start over properly."

Warily, he took her hand and kissed it.

"I'm Margaret Darcy, vampire at your service. If it would be alright, I would like to use your quiet, out-of-the-way…" She paused, searching for the right word to describe the home of her new host. "…Lair here as temporary quarters for just my trunk, my coffin, and I. If you'd like, I could pay some form of rent, also."

"That won't be necessary."

"Oh come now…"

"I think your promise not to kill me is payment enough."

She glared at him, but then remembered something. "I thought at one time you wanted death…"

"Once, I did. But how did you know that?"

Smiling, she put a hand on his shoulder. "Same as I know your name, the little song you sang to that Daaé girl down here, that you think about her all the time, and that right now you're thinking that all of this is a big nightmare."

His jaw dropped. _She knows what I'm thinking!_

"Exactly."

He jumped up from the organ bench.

Margaret laughed lightly. "I do try to keep from doing that. It just distracts me while I'm on the hunt for dinner. Don't worry, I usually go after the thieves in alleys. I have never killed a musician, a writer, or an artist…"

Erik breathed a sigh of relief.

"I generally like the arts. What keeps me going through this eternity I've been condemned to walk the earth is watching how art changes." She quickly snapped out of her almost human sentiment. "Now, it is time for me to go out. Is there anything that you require while I am…"

"No, thank you."

"Well, _bonne soir_. I shall see you about this time tomorrow night, unless I return early."

He nodded as she headed out a back passageway. _Now, how did she know how to get out… She doesn't need to ask…_

Margaret returned two hours later. "Found my dinner surprisingly early, and suddenly had no urge to roam around Paris anymore."

"Oh," Erik replied, uninterested and frustrated.

"What's wrong? Don't mean to pry…"

"Can't you just read my thoughts and leave me in peace?" he replied roughly.

"I could, but I do not wish to."

He didn't respond verbally, but he took another sip of his brandy.

"Well, if that's the way you feel, I think I shall retire. Hunting for your dinner is a tiring process."

"There is something I would like to ask you before you go."

She turned and looked at him. "Yes?"

"What is…"

She rolled her eyes. "…It like to be a vampire," she said, finishing his thought. "I get that question all the time. Do you _really_ want to know?"

"I suppose I do…"

"Alright, fine."

Erik jumped when she suddenly appeared in the chair next to him.

"Sorry." Margaret appeared in thought for a moment. "What is it like to be a vampire… You would think that after all the times I have been asked that question, I would have a standard answer by now. There are some things that I cannot put into words, but since you asked, I suppose I shall have to try."

He looked at her. To him, she appeared as an enigma, a puzzle that just begged for him to sort out. Maybe her answer to his question would be the first piece to her puzzle.

"At first, being a vampire is frightening, not to mention very disheartening and lonely. You must live in a coffin during the day to shield out all daylight. At night when you wake, you must go in search of blood to satisfy your unholy thirst. Then, when you have your fill, you return to your coffin. Tomorrow is another night, a night in which you must do the same thing as the night before, and the night before that—drink the blood of others in order to survive to the next night."

"Vicious cycle."

"More vicious of a cycle than any mortal will ever know. Then, after a year or so of the vicious cycle, you become disheartened. The realization that the cycle will not end until the end of time suddenly hits you. After that, you realize that the people you knew in your mortal life, but cannot know in your immortal one, begin to age and die while you stay the same. Before you know it, you're alone in the world."

_Like me._

"No, not like you. I've watched you for a while now. You were in love with the little soprano. You have a friend in the dance instructor. You, my friend, have more people that know you, even if they hate you, than I have had to know me since 1527. Everyone that comes across me, with the exception of those that I have forbidden myself to harm, either becomes very ill or dies. If they live, they always remember the face of the woman that tried to kill them so they can come try to kill me later. Count yourself lucky."

Erik did not respond. He only took a sip of his brandy.

"_Now_, monsieur, I shall retire. _Au revoir_." Rising form her chair, her crimson dress fell behind her as she walked back towards the small room where her coffin sat awaiting her. _Good job, Margaret._ She climbed into her coffin. _You just sit down with someone and tell them your **feelings**. You're supposed to be a vampire—a tough, blood-drinking, unholy, immortal, monster. You laugh in the face of danger and death, because you cannot die. You should have died well inside the sixteenth century, but no, here you are in the nineteenth century. Just keep your mouth closed. Your new host / mind doctor has not told you anything of himself, yet you tell him about your **feelings**. You had to read his mind just to know his name…_ She rolled over on her side in the comfortable wooden box that had become her sanctuary over the years…


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note:**** First off, I don't own anything. Second of all, I'm sorry for the long wait in between chapters. I've got several other stories (none of which are up here yet) going, and I must give time to them as well. Plus, I've been reading some other fine stories on this site, both PotO and others. Lastly, I would like to thank the people who have reviewed so far. To those who have asked for an update, here it is.**

Chapter 4

For the next three days, verbal contact between Margaret and Erik was virtually suspended. They knew that work had commenced on the opera house above, because of all the noises of hammers and the noise of the removal of the old, burnt wood.

Having become accustomed to being alone, her silence did not bother him. While she slept in her coffin in a closet, he sat at his organ (in the same manner he always had) and composed. Other times, he would take a book out of his small, yet broad, library and would study up on some things he had not read in a long while, just anything to keep busy.

Every evening when she woke up, she reminded herself of **what** she was and **how** she was **supposed** to act. She continued to chastise herself for her display of her emotions and sentiments to Erik. _You, Margaret, are a vampire. Vampires are cold, heartless, tough, monstrous immortals. One does not go around and simply barrage others with tales of how lonely vampires are. It makes one sound like a blundering fool. On top of that, a vampire does not tell such things to humans. Humans, if you remember, are your prey—your meals. You do not make friends with them. Even if you have promised to spare their life, you still do not freely associate with them. You are a lone wolf. _Then, after chastising herself, she would, without a word to Erik, leave to find her next meal. Upon returning, she would go straight back to her coffin.

One evening as she awoke, she heard (like almost every evening) music coming from the organ. This time, however, it sounded familiar. Clad in her forest green dressing gown, she silently made her way to Erik. A sudden smile came over her face when she recognized the song. "'Moonlight Sonata'. Touché. Is there a reason for playing that now?"

He whirled around.

"No, don't stop playing."

"Reason… Not really. I just happened to find an old copy of the music here."

"Oh. I thought you were playing it because…"

"Because why?" Erik dared to inquire.

"Well…umm…I thought you might be playing it because there's a full moon out tonight. Or because I am a creature of the night. Anyway, I want to tell you that I have not heard it played that well since… Well, never mind."

"Since when?"

"Since I heard Beethoven write it."

Erik's eyes widened. "You knew…"

"I didn't know him," she interrupted. "Sorry to disappoint you." Margaret smiled.

"Disappoint me?" For the first time since she had been with him, he smiled.

"Vienna. 1801, I believe. Dedicated to a student of his. I was passing under his window, which was open. I remember the day well."

"You _heard_ the man himself playing…no, _composing_ it. _Mon Dieu_…" He seemed almost in ecstasy at the thought of his houseguest being close enough to see the great composer that he so admired.

Seeing the look on his face, she almost laughed. "From that look on your face, one would think that you were looking at Beethoven himself instead of me."

"I'm sorry."

"Quite alright." As soon as the words escaped her lips, she realized that she, again, had let her emotions get the best of her. She had also begun to "freely associate" with Erik—_A human_, she reminded herself. She shook her head of blonde curls and quickly went back to the closet that held her coffin. "Time for me to…umm…get ready and go…"

Why does she always run off like that? I don't think I said anything wrong… 

Only about ten minutes passed since Margaret's departure, and Erik was already absorbed completely in his work. He was so absorbed in his music that he did not hear someone approaching his abode through the tunnels from the opera house.

"Erik!" a voice familiar to him called from the other side of the gate.

His head spun around quickly from the sheet music to the gate. "Madame Giry?" he called.

"Yes, it is me. Please open this confounded gate."

He hastily opened the gate. "You have returned."

"Something horrible has happened," she began, carrying on as if she never heard his comment.

Margaret stopped suddenly in front of a dress shop that had closed up for the night. Turning her head sharply, she looked back towards the opera house. In her mind, an image appeared of Erik in his white shirt, crisp black pants, and white mask holding a child of no more than three or four. Even though she had just consumed her meal and enough color had returned to her cheeks to give her the illusion of being human, her face suddenly became pale again.

"_No! You cannot do this! Punish me for whatever sins you think I have committed, but for heaven's sake, do not punish my child! What has he done? He has not seen four winters yet!"_

"_You killed your husband with your witch's ways. We must save your son from you."_

"_My son has done nothing wrong in the sight of God or of you. I would never hurt my child. He is my child!"_

"_He is God's child, unlike you, and he will go back to God."_

She started back towards the opera house. While she began to run, she soon picked up speed and appeared to vanish to any human that could see her.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note:**** Still don't own anything. Thanks to my lovely reviewers. **

Chapter 5

Just as Madame Giry left through the same watery passage that she came through, Margaret descended into the lair from the back way.

"What is going on?" she hissed.

His white mask seated on the right side of his face, Erik turned to face her. "Margaret, you startled me."

"What is going on? That little boy, I know he is here. I saw him in your arms."

"What is going on, _mademoiselle_, is the boy and his father were returning home via _La Place de l'Opéra_ when a carriage struck the father. Madame Gi…an acquaintance of mine brought him down to me because it is too late to take him to a suitable orphanage…"

"He cannot stay here," she said abruptly as she looked up towards the large bed that the boy was safely slumbering in.

"This is my home. Who are you, _mademoiselle_, to tell me whom I can and cannot have in my home? If I recall correctly, _you_ are also residing in my home. I could always tell you to leave."

"He cannot stay here," she repeated.

He sighed heavily and folded his arms across his chest. "And just why not?"

Margaret did not respond. She gathered up her navy blue velvet skirt and walked up the steps to the bed. As she approached the boy, something stirred inside her. Something that hadn't stirred since…

"And just why not?" Erik repeated, standing in the doorway. He looked down at the strong vampire kneeling next to the bed, stroking the boy's blonde hair.

"Because he looks… Because he is not safe here."

"What? His looks? He looks fine to me."

"You would not understand." She stood up and shoved Erik aside to get through the doorway.

"And what would I not understand? I ask you why this child cannot stay here until my acquaintance can get him to a suitable orphanage. You give me a mixed answer. What is the answer?"

"He cannot stay because he is a threat," Margaret said in a matter-of-fact manner.

"A threat to whom? Me? Most assume that I am dead."

"Yes. But, I am dead, and he is a threat to me."

"Because he might tell someone that a vampire resides under the opera house?" He almost laughed. "The boy is no more than three or four. Anything he says will be dismissed as a child's imagination."

She turned her face away from Erik's sight to attempt to regain the composure she was loosing. "That is not the reason he is a threat to me."

"Then what is it?"

"I cannot tell you."

"Cannot or will not?" Erik's voice began to escalate in volume. "I tire of your unwillingness to communicate with me. If you are to reside here in your coffin in my home, I must be able to communicate with you."

"The boy is a threat to me because he…"

"I am waiting."

"He will cause me to do something that I have not done in almost three-hundred and sixty years and do not care to do again."

"What might that be? Give me a valid reason, and I will have him out of here and in the nearest orphanage as soon as I can physically walk up to that bed and pick him up."

Margaret again turned to face Erik. Tears, not normal tears, but tears mingled with blood, were streaming down her pale cheeks. She did not even try to wipe them from her blue eyes.

Suddenly, the boy appeared in the doorway. His perfect, angelic face shone in the candlelight.

She sensed his presence, even though he had not said a word.

"Mother?" he asked in a hopeful tone, looking down at Margaret.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

**Author's Note: For reasons that will become evident as you, the reader, read this chapter, two characters begin to speak in Italian. Now, I have not studied Italian, nor do I speak it fluently, so I have used an online translator to provide the Italian words for what I wanted to say (the English translations are at the end of the chapter). Now, if anyone has studied or speaks Italian fluently and there is a problem with the Italian in this chapter, _please_ let me know so that I can fix it. ((I chose Italian because of Italy's proximity to France, and another factor, which may or may not make itself known later in the story…))**

**Jen Lennon**

"Child, this woman is…" Erik started.

"Your mother," Margaret finished for him, lying through her teeth.

The boy's face lit up and a smile spread across his red lips, revealing his small teeth. "Really?"

"Yes, Michael, I am your mother." She smiled.

"What in the hell…"

She turned to Erik. "_Per favore. Non ora. Ciò è la ragione per cui ho detto che il ragazzo sarebbe una minaccia a me_,"(1) she pleaded in Italian.

"_Poiché pensa che siate la sua madre_?"(2) he questioned, also in Italian.

"_Spiegherò in un momento. Ora, devo ottenerlo di nuovo a sonno. Scusilo._"(3) She picked up her skirt and walked up the steps to the small child. "Now, Michael, time to get you back to bed."

"What happened to my father?"

Margaret turned to Erik. "He brought you to live with me, _mon chèr garçon_."

"But all the people outside…"

"Time for bed, Michael. You've had a long night." She led him back to the swan bed.

About ten minutes later, Margaret emerged from the bedroom. She found Erik sitting in a chair with a book. "What are you reading?"

"_È un vecchio dizionario italiano. Ho pensato che potrebbe essere utile se dobbiamo continuare a parlare la lingua. Il mio italiano è un po'arrugginito, diverso di il vostro_,"(4­) he said, not looking up.

"I was just using it so that…"

"So that the boy would not know that _non siete realmente la sua madre_."(5)

"Yes," she replied with downcast eyes.

"You said you would explain why you _stanno ingannandolo_."(6)

Sighing heavily, she sat down on the thick arm of the chair. "I had a son once. Believe it or not, his name was Michael, and he looked exactly like the little boy who is now in your bed. He was only four when he was taken away from me."

"Measles?" Erik asked, recalling one of many possible childhood ailments.

Margaret shook her head. "Murder."

"What?"

"When people who lived near me back in England began to suspect that something was different about me, they also began to look at my husband and son differently. About the time I was made what I am, my husband died. After he died, people began to think that because of my strange behavior, I killed him, and thus was the spawn of the devil. I did not kill him, mind you. He simply became ill. Anyway, people felt the need to save my son from me. So, to make an otherwise long story short, they killed him—my only child, my baby, my son, all that I had left of the husband that I loved—because they thought it was the only way to save him."

He wanted to say something, but for once, he couldn't find the words.

"I read the boy's thoughts, Erik. He has no memory of his mother. And when he thought that _I_ was his mother… It was like all the old memories of my son came back at once. I couldn't help _but_ tell him what he wanted to hear. When you are a parent, you take for granted hearing your child's voice, hearing his laugh. Then, when the child is gone, you realize how much you miss it. Trust me, if our roles were reversed, you would have done the same thing."

"Then why is the child a threat to you?"

"Because he is human, and I am not. He is a human child who wants and needs to be loved by a human." She paused, red-tinted tears began to stream down her face. "Socrates once said 'Know thyself.' The boy will make me use those emotions that immortality has forbidden me to use. He will make me try to be what I cannot—a human…" She rose quickly from the arm of the chair, her hand clamped over her mouth.

"It is a little late to be stopping yourself now, Margaret. You have already told the boy that you are his mother. What is going to happen when he wakes up?"

"It will be day, and I will be asleep. Just tell him that I am…working somewhere."

"That is not what I'm talking about. It's a little late to say the boy is a threat to you because he will make you use emotions. For one thing, you have already showed a great deal of them just in the past few moments."

_Don't remind me._

"You know, I think it may be a good thing that this boy is here to make you show emotions. I am quickly tiring of every time you start to talk to me, you stop just when things start to seem to be going well. Maybe with this boy around…"

"Stop it."

**Translations (Italian – English)**

"**Please, not now. This is the reason that I said the boy would be a threat to me."**

"**Because he thinks that you are his mother?"**

"**I will explain in a moment. Right now, I have to get him back to sleep. Excuse me."**

**It's an old Italian dictionary. I thought it might be useful if we are to continue speaking the language. My Italian is a bit rusty, unlike yours."**

"…**You are not really his mother."**

"…**Are deceiving him."**


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

**Author's Note: Ok, wow. I so did not realize that I neglected to upload chapter 6...I have books to read for school that I need to be reading worse than writing this… But it's obvious where my priorities lie. Thanks for the lovely reviews, especially those from trisana. It made my day. Still don't own anything.**

Silently opening the door that concealed her coffin, Margaret peered outside into the lair. She wanted to leave quickly to obtain her next meal, but without being spotted by her "son". She smiled when she saw Erik attempting to appease Michael with a book.

"I can't read!" Michael said when handed the book.

"Maybe it is time that you learned, child."

Quickly and silently, she made her way up from the lair to the street. With a smile on her face and a dark song in her heart, Margaret decided that for the first time in over three hundred years she was going to go purchase some toys for Michael (being as how he had none) after she had a quick meal.

She soon came upon a man who would make the perfect meal. She snuck up behind him.

He quickly turned around, his face paling. "YOU!"

Margaret studied him for a second. "Have I met you before?"

"Yes you have met me before. You tried to kill me."

"And I didn't succeed?"

"I'm still here, aren't I?"

"I guess that is a good indicator…"

"And now we meet again. This time, however, I will not be the one left to die on the street." The man pulled out a knife.

Opening her mouth, her fangs extended. As she lunged for him, she felt a sharp pain above her heart. She looked down and saw a stream of blood pour from the hole left by the man's knife.

"Now see how it feels, _madame_." Collecting his knife, the man left as quickly as she had found him.

Sinking to her knees on the cold, stony streets, Margaret began to gasp for breath. _Help me! Please, someone, help me! If only Erik could hear me! I'm not that far outside the back of the opera house_…

"_I-il y av-avait une fois_…" Michael began to read slowly.

"Good," Erik replied. Suddenly, he stopped. He could hear Margaret's voice in his head. _Please, someone, help me! If only Erik could hear me! I'm not that far outside the back of the opera house_…

He stood up quickly. "Michael?"

"Yes?" the angelic-faced child looked up.

"Can I trust you to remain here and not leave this sofa until I return?" He went over to a chair and picked up his thick black cape and an extra blanket.

"Where are you going?"

"I…umm… I have to go…pick up the evening newspaper," he lied.

"Oh. Okay. Should I continue reading?"

"Yes. Just do not leave the sofa. I shall return shortly." He quickly went up a back passageway and out into the street.

_This cannot kill me, can it?_ Margaret pondered as she used every ounce of energy in her immortal body to hold herself up on her knees. _Someone has got to pass here soon_…

_She's not far from the back of the opera house…_ Erik began to frantically search the alley behind the opera house. _Why am I doing this? Is it because the child sitting on my sofa thinks that she is his mother? Or is it because…_ "There she is," he whispered, half relieved.

She heard footsteps behind her. Turning to look, she saw it was Erik. "E-Erik," she whispered just loud enough for him to hear.

"_Mon Dieu_, what happened?" he asked, seeing the stab wound on her chest.

"W-well…"

"Never mind. You are too weak to talk. We've got to get you somewhere safe." He scooped her up in his arms gently. Balancing her on his strong knee for a moment, he grabbed the spare blanket he had brought with him and put it over where the blood was coming out. He slid his arm back under her and began to quickly, but not too fast, carry her back to the opera house. "Do you think you can hold that blanket with enough pressure to stop the bleeding?"

She nodded weakly and put a hand over the blanket just before slipping into unconsciousness.


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note:**** Twelve reviews. I'm proud. I've got five or six on the other site that I've got this story up on. So, that makes seventeen or eighteen total. I'd like to get up to at least thirty on this site. Tell your friends. Your reviews are appreciated more than you may know. I don't do review responses because I was told that now does not allow then and will remove accounts if an author does them. But still, please read and review.**

**Oh, more Italian speaking in this chapter. Translations at the bottom.**

**Jen**

Chapter 8

Young Michael gasped in horror when he turned around on the sofa to see Erik carrying his mother's lifeless body back down in the lair. "What have you done to my mother?" he cried, eyes wide with fear.

"You would do well to hold your tongue, little one," Erik began with fire in his eyes and his temper beginning to flare. "I have done nothing to your 'mother'. When I went out to gather the newspaper, I saw her hurt." He paused long enough to lay her on the eagle bed. He turned back to the boy. "So, I brought her back…home." _Home? Is that what I just said? Home…_

Michael cast his blue eyes down to the stone floor. "I…I'm sorry," he stammered, not wanting to face the large man's wrath.

Erik mentally slapped himself. He had just yelled at a child. _The child that Margaret loves so._ "I should be the one to apologize, little Michael."

With a pained expression on her face, Margaret's eyes slowly fluttered open.

Michael's face lit up. "Mother!" He ran past Erik and to his mother's side.

She wrapped the child up in her arms. "Michael, why don't you go back to the sofa and read your book for a little while?"

"I've _been_ reading that book. Why do I have to go?" he whined.

"I need to…talk to Monsieur Erik alone for a moment."

He looked up into her eyes dejectedly.

"Now."

The child turned on his small heels and left the room.

Erik looked down at the woman in the bed quizzically. "You need to talk to me alone?"

"Well, I suppose that I ought to thank you for bringing me in off the street." She pulled the blanket off of her chest, revealing that the stab wound had already healed.

He quickly turned his head when he realized where he was looking on her body for the wound. "How did that…"

She smiled. "Allow me to slightly change an old adage: knives and guns may pierce my skin, but none will ever kill me. Immortality, as I said, is both a gift and a curse."

_Then what can kill her if not guns and knives?_

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

"Yes, I would, actually."

"And what would you do with this knowledge? Kill me? No, monsieur, I do not care who you are. I will not tell you what will kill me."

"Why would I kill you? What reason do I have?" Erik's voice began to get louder.

"What reason do you have to kill me? Let us think about this one, shall we?" She stood up, raising her voice as she switched languages. "_Sono un vampire! Il mio genere sarebbero il bambino del diavolo egli stesso! Predo agli esseri umani. Chi non desidera ucciderlo?_" (1)

"_I mai una volta che detto che ho desiderato per ucciderlo! Ero semplicemente curioso..._" (2)

"Too curious for your own good" She began to fall down, but stopped herself and stood upright again.

"_Voi una volta che detto che le traverse non li ucciderebbero. Perchè? Mi sono detto a una volta..._" (3) he began softly.

"_La gente suppone che le cose come me sono del diavolo, unholy. Se quello fosse allineare, quindi inoltre non sosterrebbe che le cose sante manterrebbero via ed ucciderebbero il diavolo ed i suoi **bambini della notte**?_" (4)

Erik nodded. He put his hands on top of his dark wig. "Sorry for troubling you. You are probably much in need of rest after your 'ordeal'. I shall leave you to your own devices. The pull for the curtain is right above you if you require what limited privacy it can give." He slowly walked down the steps, past the little nook where he had kept the dummy of Christine and her wedding dress, and back to his organ.

Margaret grabbed the elegant frame of the bed to stabilize herself. _He probably had this bed made for Christine, his Christine. I am certain he did not intend for someone like me to be using it._ When she started to walk, she suddenly felt all her strength leave her. She fell backwards onto the bed again and found herself unable to move. Her blonde curls fell around her face, forming what could be mistaken for a halo. _Maybe I'll just stay here for a little while. Erik might come back soon…_

Minutes passed. Erik did not return.

Before she could regain enough strength to move back to her coffin, a sound sleep overtook her.

**Italian to English Translations (sorry if these are not perfect)**

**I am a vampire! My kind are said to be the child of the devil himself. I prey upon humans. Who does not want to kill me?**

**I never once said I wanted to kill you! I was simply curious…**

**You once said crosses would not kill you. Why? I was once told…**

**People assume that things like me are of the devil, unholy. If that were true, then would it not also hold true that holy things would keep away and kill the devil and his children of the night?**


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note: Think it's time for another disclaimer for good measure. I do not own anything, except for Margaret Darcy, little Michael, and the new character introduced in this chapter, Klaus. This is going to be perhaps the longest chapter that I've written so far. **

**Ok, I know I said at the beginning of this thing that I was going to stay away from the tired, worn out Dracula myth with this thing. Well, I am going to use a _tiny_ bit of it, but from Wes Craven's _Dracula 2000_. If you've seen that movie… Well, you know that Dracula is capable of having real physical relationships with mortals. Wait and see. I may use this principle later in the story, too, but nothing is certain except for death and taxes.**

Chapter 9 

Moaning softly, half in pain and half in comfort, Margaret slowly opened her blue eyes. She looked around her and realized that she was still where she fell asleep originally—Erik's eagle bed. She quickly began to panic.

Erik sat at his old wooden desk writing another note to be delivered to the new managers. _What were their names?_ Ah well, he'd go back and fill their names in when he finished.

"What time is it?" Margaret screamed as she stumbled out of the bedroom, grabbing walls for support.

"I would venture to say that it is around eight o'clock in the morning."

"_Morning_?" She suddenly stopped. She began to feel her skin. "I should have learned this by now," she said as she looked up at the ceiling.

"Learned what?" Erik asked, turning from his unfinished letter.

"You are here, five floors below the opera house. Five floors below the surface where sunlight has no chance of seeping in." She looked at him and smiled. "So, I am safe."

"Safe? From the sun? Is that…"

"I have said too much."

"…What would kill you that you would not tell me about last evening?"

She looked away from him and tried to change the subject. "Where is Michael?"

"He is upstairs. I needed a note delivered."

"Oh, so now you've got him in your service playing your personal delivery boy! What if someone finds out…"

He stood up and looked down at her. His figure was intended to strike fear into her, but it failed. "About what?" he hissed.

"That you are still down here! That _I_ am down here! They found this place once three years ago, and I'm sure that they could do it again!" She closed the distance between them, still in her blood-stained clothes from the disastrous night before.

"No one will find their way down here without my help, Margaret. I've changed some things around between upstairs and this humble abode." He waved his hand around, motioning to everything in the room.

_I still don't like it_. Her hair matted down and disheveled, she walked past Erik and towards the small closet that held her coffin and trunk. "I believe that I shall retire to my real bed for a while before going out tonight."

"Are you sure that's…"

"I will be fine." No sooner had Margaret crawled into her coffin, she heard a voice inside her head—a voice she hadn't heard since 1550…

_Hello, Margaret. I'm back in town. What would you say to meeting me on the bank of the Seine closest to the Louvre at midnight?_

_Klaus!_

"Are you going out now? Bit late, is it not?"

"Erik, I will be fine. This time, I know who I am going to meet." Margaret shut the closet door, effectively hiding her coffin. She straightened her black dress and pushed her curls behind her ears.

"And who might that be?"

"Someone from my past. I shan't tell you his name on the account that you have told me nothing about _your_ past."

"Why do I need to _tell_ you anything? Could you not just read my thoughts again?"

"Having you tell me is much more fun. I cannot see your emotions on that gorgeous face of yours if I read your thoughts," she added with a coy smile.

"Gorgeous? This face is far from gorgeous. Grotesque would be a better way to describe it."

"Well, I do not know what is on the other side of that mask, so I cannot really call it grotesque or gorgeous."

"Were you not here the night _Don Juan_ was performed? Did you not see my face then?" He now stood within inches of her.

She nodded. "I was there, but when your thoughts told me that you were prepared to cut down the chandelier. Knowing the tendency of things like that and wood to spark fires, I decided that it was best for me to leave. So, no, I did not see your face then. The last thing I remember hearing was 'lead me, save me from my solitude'."

He closed his eyes as he relived the memory. _The song. The dance. The passion. The love… Oh Christine…_

Margaret cleared her throat, snapping him out of his short-lived reverie.

"Sorry." He looked down at the floor.

"It's alright. I would like to stay and continue this conversation, but I have an appointment to keep. I will be back as soon as I can."

----------------------------------------------

"Klaus?"

The slim, dark figure sitting down on the bank of the river looked up from the moonlit river. "Margaret, you came. I knew you would."

"Of course you would know. You have always been able to know my thoughts." She sat down beside him. "It has been quite a long time since we parted ways here last time."

With a flip of his shoulder-length red hair, he smiled. "I know. And we were sitting here, if you recall."

"How could I forget, dear Klaus, my maker? 1550 was the last time we were here together, as I recall."

"Correct as always, Margaret, my prodigy and progeny."

"So," she began as she skipped a small stone on the smooth surface of the Seine. "What have you been doing for the past three-hundred odd years?"

"Well," he lay on his back on the soft grass. "After you decided you wanted to go to Italy, I stayed here until after the Revolution."

"Oh, I am sure that was a wonderful time. I was in…Russia then, I believe."

"It was rather wonderful. All the beheadings…"

"You _would_ find that amusing."

"Of course, m'dear."

"And after that?"

"I went to America. Needed something wild. And I have been travelling all over that vast expanse of a country since. Until, of course, I came back here six months ago."

"And it took you that long to find me?"

"I did know you were here when I arrived. I sensed it. I decided to find myself a place to stay before I found you again. Then, one thing led to another, and I finally got around to sending you that little message today."

"What kind of 'things' could possibly keep you from checking up on your 'prodigy and progeny' for six whole months while we were no more than three miles apart?"

"Adele."

"Who?"

"A certain mortal."

"Mortal? You are associating with mortals?"

"Yes, I am. And I know for a matter of fact that you are as well. Adele is simply my mistress who does not know much about me. Your mortal 'friend' is none other than the Opera Ghost."

"A mistress?"

He smiled triumphantly. "Of course. A mortal mistress. What every male vampire needs."

Margaret rolled her blue eyes. "Only you, Klaus."

"Oh, and you, dear Margaret, would _never_ stoop to that level with your precious _Fantôme de l'Opéra_."

"Precious? I am simply using a closet in his 'home'."

"Simply using a closet, eh? And what about that small child?"

"Don't lay a hand on him," she said defensively.

"I will not, I swear."

"What about him?"

"You keep him with you because he resembles the twin that survived."

She lowered her eyes. "Yes."

"Now that we are in the same area of the world again, we should do this more often."

"Do what?"

"Just sit here and talk, Margaret, like we used to do when I first brought you here."

"I think that would be a nice thing to do. We definitely have a lot of things to catch up on."

He nodded. "Indeed. Next time we meet, remind me to tell you about the first time I saw you."

She was intrigued.

"Next time, dear."

"All right."

"Adele awaits. I must be off." He planted a friendly, fatherly kiss on her forehead as he rose. "_Bonne soir_."

"_Bonne soir_, Klaus."


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's Note:**** Thanks for the reviews, as always. I'm getting closer to my goal of thirty reviews every day. Makes me feel important. Another long chapter, but I don't think you people mind, do you?**

**Oh, found a song that (albeit in a rather strange way) reminds me of this story. A lot of you may know it—"Blinded by the Light" by (I think) Bruce Springsteen. See, "Blinded by the Light" can also refer to a vampire. ;-) Eh, what do I know? It's a catchy song. The part about Mozart checking to see if it was safe outside makes me think of Erik, and the last little part I included here makes me think of Margaret. I'm insane, I know.**

Some silicon sister with a manager mister  
told me I go what it takes.  
I'll run you on sonny to something strong   
play the song with the funky break

And go-cart Mozart was checkin' out the  
weather charts see if it was safe outside  
And little Early Burly came by in his curly wurly  
and asked me if I needed a ride

_**She got down but she never got tired  
She's gonna make it to the night   
She's gonna make it through the night**_

Chapter 10

Erik yawned and looked over at a small clock on the other side of his large desk. _It is three o'clock in the morning. Where in the blazes is she? _He sat back in his chair and put down his pencil. _Well, she can only go out at night, so I suppose she has to make the most of the dark. _

"I suppose a better question than 'Where in the blazes is she?' would be 'Why in the blazes are you waiting up for me?'"

He turned around quickly to see Margaret standing right behind his desk chair. "Good…morning."

"Ah, yes, and a good morning to you, too. I'll answer your question if you answer mine."

"What question?"

She glared at him. "The one you were _thinking_."

"Oh."

"I'll go first. I 'met my maker'."

"What? You are already dead, so…"

"No, I met him quite literally." She took off her black velvet choker. "I met back up with the man who put these ever-lovely holes in my neck in 1527."

He looked up at her neck, and for the first time, saw the tiny red holes that made her who she was. "Why would you meet with the man who killed you?"

"Well, that is your second question, and you still have not answered mine. However, I shall answer the second question for continuity's sake. All right, I admit that Klaus took away my mortal life and gave me my immortal one. I was rather sore with him for a while after that. But, when I was banished from merry ol' England, he and I went all over the known world together. In 1550, we parted ways because he longed to stay here in Paris and I wished to go elsewhere. Now, he's back in Paris with a mortal mistress named Adele. Leave it to Klaus."

Erik simply stared at her for a moment, not quite knowing what to make of her tale.

"Now, you have to answer my question—Why in the blazes were you waiting up for me?"

"Well…umm… After the incident with the man and the knife…"

"That is very touching, Erik, but I am capable of defending myself."

"Well, obviously, you were not that night."

"I was simply caught off my guard. It will not happen again." She turned away from him. "Now, if it is all right with you, _père_, I will go to sleep now. Sorry to have kept you awake so long," she added sarcastically.

----------------------------------------------

As the days swiftly turned into weeks, the hammering together of sets and the sewing of costumes in the opera house sped up and grew in intensity. The Opéra Populaire was about to reopen with a bang.

During the days and weeks, little Michael began going upstairs to the opera house every day. Per Erik's instructions to Madame Giry, he was given small odd-and-end jobs to keep his small mind occupied for a while.

One day in particular, Margaret awoke around three o'clock in the afternoon. She did not find Erik anywhere in the lair, but did find a note from him on his desk (where he knew she would inevitably look for something of the sort):

_Margaret,_

By the time you are reading this note, I will be gone. I have some errands to do around Paris and shall return around six o'clock this evening. Michael usually returns sometime around five o'clock. Most days, you are not awake at that hour, so I thought to prepare you. Please be here when he returns, as I do not trust him here alone (save for one time, but that is another matter).

_Yours truly,_

_Erik_

She sighed heavily. It was a little past three, and would not be dark for some time, so she was confined to the lair for a while yet. Walking over to Erik's large bookshelf, she began to look for a book to read.

When she didn't find anything that struck her fancy, she found a large, old, flat piece of wood. She managed to get it into the lake at the foot of the small set of stairs, and also managed to lay flat on her back on it. She let her thin, pale fingers drag the surface of the cold water as she floated along.

"What to do today? Hmm… Maybe I will sit down here and read the thoughts of people upstairs indiscriminately again." Smiling at her wonderful and interesting idea, Margaret put her hands behind her head and began to listen in to the noisy world of thoughts…

I wonder if Jacques will come tonight? That back passageway is good for… 

"Okay, getting out of that thought. I do not believe that I want to know what that back passageway is for. _Mon Dieu_, I am immortal, and I still have morals!"

Now that the opera house is opening back up, I wonder if the Phantom will be back? 

"Ah, I love reading these thoughts. Always so interesting to learn new things about dear Erik, even if they are not true."

After listening in on other thoughts of several other people, she decided that it was time to read Madame Giry's thoughts. "They are always interesting. If something's going to go on up there, I've learned, she's the best one to listen in on."

…So much to do before the gala tomorrow night, what with the Viscomte and Viscomtess de Chagny coming. I have to get things ready today. The Viscomtess is here now Goodness knows where she is going…

Margaret sat up quickly on the board, almost tipping over. Quickly, she delved deeper into Giry's thoughts, confirming her worst fears—Christine Daaé, Erik's "Angel" was returning. "I must not let Erik find out she is coming, for her sake and his." Her mind began to spin. "Where she is going is here! She shall surely see that someone still lives down here. I cannot stand up and say 'I, a vampiress, took over the old lair of the Phantom of the Opera'. Time is of the essence! Maybe I can give her a vision if she comes down here, make her believe that she sees an abandoned abode. That is _exactly_ what I will do. I did it once to someone in Egypt…"

She quickly paddled back to the steps and left the board floating as she ran to her trunk to change.

_I remember there was mist…swirling mist upon a vast glassy lake…_

Christine Daaé de Chagny slowly made her way back down to the place where so many of the memories that haunted her dreams were made.

Margaret drew a soft breath, not wanting to be heard or seen. She knelt down just beside the organ where no one who walked under the gate could see her.

_There were candles all around, and on the lake there was a boat. And in the boat there was a man…_

She knew that Christine was about to flip the switch that pulled back the great curtain and lifted the gate. Mustering every ounce of supernatural strength within her, she closed Christine's physical eyes and inserted the picture that Margaret wanted her to see.

To Christine now, the lair was cold, dark, and abandoned. All the candles had long been extinguished. The beautiful organ was no more than a dusty pile of wood and pipes. The grand eagle bed was deteriorating and the plush red sheets were dank and smelled of mildew. "So he has gone, then," she said aloud with a hint of sadness in her voice.

Margaret began to insert thoughts into Christine's head. _And what would you have done if you had found him down here? You are a married woman now. Married to your childhood sweetheart. You wouldn't have run away from him to be with your 'poor unhappy Phantom'. Phantom? You do not even know his name…_

After a few more moments of Margaret's thoughts in her head, Christine decided that it was time to leave the dank lair that bore almost no resemblance to the one she had been to three years prior.

When the gate was shut, Margaret breathed a sigh of relief. _I've fooled her. She doesn't know Erik's still here!_

Erik returned to the lair at six o'clock as promised. When he returned, he saw Margaret sitting on the steps, her feet dangling into the cold lake. She was watching little Michael float away on the board that she herself was floating on earlier.

"What is that smell?" he asked.

"What smell?"

"It smells like…Christine! It smells like her perfume!"

"Are you feeling all right?" Margaret asked, lying through her teeth.

"The last time this place smelled like that was when she was here."

"Well, she's not here now, as you can see."

"But she was here…"

"Three years ago, as I understand." She saw that this was about to get out of hand. She stood up and went over to Erik.

"She had to have just been here. Where is she?" He began to get frantic.

"Erik, come with me."

"Why?"

"Please, just come with me." She grabbed his cloak and pulled him up to the elegant eagle bed.

"She is here. I know it."

"Yes, she is. Not down here, but she is back in Paris."

"I must find her!"

"No. You must be mad. I do not know why I didn't see it before."

Erik tried to get past her. "I have to find her."

"No you will not." Margaret put a hand out to stop him.

He again tried to leave.

"Then I am left with no other choice." She sunk her teeth into his neck.

He fell back onto the bed, fighting at first, but then stopped.

"This is for your own good," Margaret whispered as she pulled down the curtain.


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's Note:** **Glad people were hung up on the cliffhanger in the last chapter. GerryLover15 left me my twentieth review. In celebration of you helping me reach that milestone dear, I am going to dedicate this chapter to you. And yes, GerryLover15, Erik is going to be very mad when he wakes up.**

**This chapter is split up because of it's length. The beginning of this chapter is not my best work, and Erik may be a little OOC, but please, forgive me. I think he is a little too soft in the beginning (especially concerning a former chorus girl), but because of his physical state at the beginning… You've gotta give the guy a little lee-way. Trust me, the old Erik we all love will be back in full force later in the second part of this, another long chapter. This chapter is crucial to the story, so please be kind to it. **

**This story will be finished in the next three to four chapters, so just brace yourselves.**

**Forgot to say that in the last chapter, I obviously do not own the lyrics I used in there. Don't own the ones I use in this chapter, either. Webber or whoever owns them. Once again, the only things I own are Klaus, Margaret, and little Michael. Honestly, if I owned everything, do you think I would be sitting here? No. I'd be out purchasing my fleet of Mini Coopers and my 1968 Corvette 'Stingray'. sigh **

Chapter 11 

Erik's blue-green eyes slowly fluttered open. Looking around him, he realized that he was still lying in the soft sheets of the eagle bed where Margaret had left him unconscious the night before. _I am going to go rip the lid off that coffin of hers right now…_He swung his legs over the side of the bed and tried to sit up. Instead of being able to quickly get up, he fell backwards onto the bed. Cursing himself and his female "roommate", he attempted to get up out of the bed yet again…and failed. "MARGARET!" he shouted at the top of his lungs.

"No need to shout. I'm right here," she said with a grin.

"Woman, what have you done to me?"

Gently, she knelt down and picked up his legs to put them back on the bed. "You, Erik, lost a lot of blood last night. You were in this rage about this woman named Christine. You thought that she had been down here recently…"

"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME?"

"Will you please hold it down?"

He glared at her. Reaching up, he quickly made sure that he was still wearing his mask (which he was).

"All right, I, in a way, sedated you."

"Tried to kill me is more like it," he muttered.

"Now now, I promised that I _wouldn't_ kill you."

He continued to glare at her.

"Ok, I am sorry for biting you and rendering you unconscious last night, but I had to do it."

He turned his face away from her. "Hmph."

"It was for your own good…and her's, too. The last thing anyone needed was for you to come and steal her away again. Oh, and do not get your hopes up. She isn't coming for the gala tonight. She just wanted to see how the renovations came along before a crowd of people were here."

Erik's heart sank. _She's not coming._ "But I have to know, was she down here yesterday?"

Margaret sighed and sat down on the bed next to him. "Yes, she was." She pushed her blonde curls behind her ears.

"Did she see you?"

"No."

"Did you do anything to her?"

"Other than play with her mind, no."

"What?" He rolled over and looked up at her (as he was incapable of much else).

"I simply sat over there on the other side of the organ where she couldn't see me, and gave her a vision and a few thoughts of my own."

"And what kind of vision was this?"

"Why do you need to know?"

"Just for my own peace of mind, please."

"I just made her see what I wanted her to see—that this place down here had been long abandoned. It was still daylight, so I couldn't go anywhere. I didn't want her to start poking around and find me, or find that you are still here and wait around."

"And she left?"

"Yes."

"And I won't see her tonight?"

"She is not coming to the gala. I already said that."

"Then there isn't much I can do about it, since I cannot seem to move from this bed."

She picked up an old wooden tray from the floor and put it in Erik's lap. "I may not be able to eat food like this anymore, but you can. Trust me, from the amount of blood it took to put you out for a while was usually what I have for an entire meal. You'll need your strength."

His eyes widened.

"No, do not worry. You are not a vampire. You are still very, very mortal." She helped him sit up enough to begin eating the oatmeal, bacon, and coffee she had prepared.

"So, a vampire like yourself who has not cooked in over three-hundred years can still manage to make breakfast?"

"You would be surprised of what I am capable of." Gathering up her deep green skirt, she left the room for him to eat in peace.

Immediately after she broke the large doorframe, a feeling hit her that hadn't hit her in a while. _You're letting your emotions come out with the mortal again!_ Margaret smiled. _Little late for that, isn't it? It is amazing how one even forgets their own thoughts. Besides, I think that at this point, both of us are beyond caring about my emotions. _

Later that night, Margaret made her way back to the bank of the Seine next to the Louvre again to meet Klaus.

"_Bonne soir_, Klaus." She sat down on the cool grass beside him. "Now, what was it you wanted me to remind you to tell me about the night you first saw me?"

"Ah yes." Klaus stretched back and ran his fingers through his red hair. "The night that I first saw you… It was the night you were giving birth to your twins."

She blushed. "I'm sure that you caught me at my best then."

"Oh do not worry about your appearances, my dear. You always have, and it bothers me so."

"I am a woman. I am supposed to worry about my appearance."

"But anyway…"

"Yes, please continue."

"Well, they lied to you about your firstborn."

Her crystal blue eyes widened and her mouth dropped open. "What?"

With Michael asleep, Erik had free-reign of the lair again. Well, he had to be quiet enough not to awaken the child. He discovered when the child first came to share his home that Michael was quite a sound sleeper. So, it was possible for him to play his violin, but the organ might wake him up.

Erik went over and quietly picked up his violin. Thumbing through some old Mozart music, he finally found a piece to play for his pleasure. However, no sooner had he put the bow against the strings, Margaret's voice filled his head.

_I am standing in the shadow of Apollo. Erik, you must come. **I need you.**_


	12. Chapter 12

**Author's Note:**** This is really chapter eleven continued, but oh well. It's chapter twelve now. Still don't own anything. Twenty-seven reviews! Three more to get to thirty. Well, if you count the few on the other site I have this posted on, it is over thirty, but I want thirty on this site. At the rate things are going (which are good), I will have my goal by the time I am ready to post chapter 13. Thank you guys so much.**

Chapter 12

_I need you._

The last three words struck a chord inside of him (instead of his bow against the strings). _She sounded like she was crying. No one ever needed **him** when they were crying. He was usually the reason they cried or were afraid. What could **he** possibly do for **her**?_

_Do not think about it. Please, just come._

Taking a deep breath, he put down the violin, grabbed his cape and gloves, and headed up to the roof.

Up on the roof, Margaret sat at the foot of the golden statue of the god Apollo. Looking out over Paris, tears streamed down her round, pale face. _My baby…_

Erik slowly opened the trapdoor to the roof. Seeing the light snowfall on the roof quickly brought another night to the front of his mind…

_Christine. Raoul. 'Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime…', 'You will curse the day you did not do all that the Phantom asked of you…'_

He quickly shook all memories of that night away when he saw Margaret's proud figure seated below Apollo, crying into her hands. Suddenly, a feeling came over him, a feeling that had only struck him once or twice at most in his lifetime—compassion. It did not matter anymore that she was a vampire and he was a mortal. It only mattered that she was obviously hurting and for some reason had asked for him to come to her. "Margaret?" he called softly.

Turning around to see him, she ran to him. She wrapped her cold arms around his warm figure and buried her tear-stained face into his chest.

Erik, naturally, was taken aback by the blatant gesture of her trust in him. He put his arms around her. One arm was around her waist to hold her to him. He let his other gloved hand stroke her snow-covered golden tresses. "What's wrong?"

"T-they lied to me," she whispered between sobs.

"Who lied to you, my dear?" His breath caught as he used the expression. He hadn't used it since… _Never mind_.

"K-Klaus, the midwives, my own _mother_. They all told me that he died."

"Margaret, in order for me to understand you, you must define your pronouns. I do not know who 'he' and 'they' are."

"I had twins, Erik. Twin boys. My mother and the midwives told me that my first son died."

He began to hold her tighter. "I am sorry."

She slipped her cold, glove-less hands down from his neck and put them under his warm cape. "You should not be sorry. They lied. Klaus told me tonight that my first son lived that night."

"What?"

"As soon as my first son was born, they took him out of the room. They told me that he was having trouble breathing, a-and he did not make it through the night. So, all I was left with was my other son, the younger of the twins. Klaus told me tonight that he was there that night. I did not see him, but he was there."

"And he just told you that all those people lied to you. Why would they lie?"

"He said that they took one look at my child and wanted to get rid of him. They wanted to kill him, but then the church would not like that. He said that my child…" She took a deep breath and attempted to compose herself. "…appeared to them to be a monster, a demon child."

_The Devil's Child…_

She quickly broke the embrace and stood near the edge of the roof once more. "They took away my baby from me because his face, neck, and chest were deformed! Not once did they ever ask me what my child's fate should be! They just snatched him from me! Took him away to Scotland and changed his name to Stewart!" Margaret's body once again began to shake with sobs.

A nameless force made Erik set one foot in front of the other in order to reach her. He extended his arms to her.

"They thought that, besides bringing shame on the family from the church, I would not love him because he was not perfect like his brother. _I was his mother, damn it!_ He was my child! I carried him inside of me! Of course I would have loved him!"

"It is easy for you to say that now, especially now that he has been dead for probably over two and a half centuries."

Her mouth dropped open and she shoved him away. "What right have you to say that?"

"I think I have every right," he growled.

She glared at him, her blue eyes shining like a cat's in the dark.

"I have every right." Erik grabbed her wrist and pulled her back to him. Teeth clenched in rage, he tore away his mask and wig. He took her left hand and pressed it up against the scarred right side of his face. "_This_ is my right!"

Margaret, contrary to what Erik thought she was going to do, did not fight his hold on her wrist.

"Repulsed yet?"

"Why would I be repulsed, especially if my own son was like this?"

"And why should you not be? My own mother was."

_Aha, so that is it…_ She removed her hand from his face. "Do not judge others based on what people did to you in the past. Just because _your_ mother was repulsed by _your_ face does not mean that I would spurn _my_ son because of his greater deformity."

"What do you know of deformity and its degrees? You are perfect! The son you got to hold was perfect. Michael is perfect," he shouted. "Greater physical deformity, maybe, but was his soul as deformed as mine? I think not, _madame_."

"I, _monsieur_, am not perfect. You may have killed less than half a dozen people, but think of all the people that have died by my teeth! I assure you, I have killed more. My kind and I are like scourges on the earth. We kill to satisfy a hunger."

"And I killed from hate and love. So, now who is worse off?"

"I asked you up here because I needed someone to tell my story to. I did not ask you up here to tell me how I would have reacted to and treated my son whom I never met. Neither did I ask you to come up here and use my story as an excuse to wallow in your self-pity because the childish chorus-girl that was naïve enough to think that you were an angel did not love you and left with another! I was about to say, before the pity party started, that thanks to my first son, the one you said I would never love, Stewart is now a very prominent last name. He, unlike you, married and had an impressive number of children. I am very proud of him. Now, if you will excuse me, I am going to go to bed now."

Erik stood on the roof, watching as Margaret left him. He wanted to beckon her back and apologize, but what good would it do? He couldn't take back the fact that he had shown her his face, or had let her have a glimpse of his past. _What next?_

After standing on the roof underneath Apollo for a while after Margaret left, Erik returned to his lair. He took off his cape and gloves, laying them across his desk chair. Just as he turned to go wash up before bed, he saw her sprawled out across his old Victorian couch (pale pink fabric and dark wood). _Should I put her in the coffin? She looks quite peaceful where she is…_

Her face lay on top one of her soft, pale hands, and she seemed to be in a deep sleep.

_No, it would not be wise to move her. _Suddenly, he had an idea. Quietly going back to his desk, he pulled out some drawing paper and some charcoal…


	13. Chapter 13

**Author's Note: This chapter marks the beginning of the end. At most, there will be three more chapters after this one (not counting the epilogue). It will depend on how long the chapters get, because if they get too long, I split them and create these lovely cliffhangers. What comes with the beginning of the end? Why the climax of the story! So, here pretty soon, you all will see the fates of Erik, Margaret, Michael, and maybe Klaus sealed. Muaha. Lyrics quoted in this chapter are not mine, either.**

**Also in this chapter, I quote something. It is from a movie (Queen of the Damned to be precise) based off of an Ann Rice book. I know that there aren't any Ann Rice fics allowed, and I think you all know by now that this is _not_ a fic based on her work. I do admire her work a lot. Some of my knowledge of vampires comes from her. So, lemme make this clear, I obviously do not own anything that belongs to her. I am only using the quote because it reflects what I am trying to say in this chapter better than my own words could ever do. I will mark the quote for the interested parties. It will be encased in single quotes ('like this') and marked with a double asterisk after it. (like this).**

**Oh, this seems like as good of a time as any to say this… I have considered writing a sequel to this story. How many people would be up for a sequel? I will probably write it anyway (I've already got a _wonderful_ idea for it), but whether or not I post it depends on how much interest is shown. Just some food for thought.**

Chapter 13 

When Margaret awoke later on in the morning (still on the Queen Anne-style couch), she found Erik sitting at his organ sipping his coffee and composing something or another. Not hearing the pitter-patter of Michael's small feet, she assumed he was upstairs being Madame Giry's little helper. "What time is it?" she asked with a yawn.

"I do not see why the particular hour of the day matters to you, _madame_ vampire, but it is ten o'clock in the morning," he replied, not turning from his music.

"Thank you."

_All right, Erik, that came out all wrong. You promised yourself…_ "Margaret?" He turned away from the music stand and his coffee to look over at her.

"Yes?"

He cleared his throat. "I would like to…apologize for my behavior last night. I…umm… realize that I was wrong to turn your story into a 'pity party', as you called it."

She cracked a half smile. "Apology accepted." Getting up off the comfortable couch, she made her way over to the organ bench. Her skirt and blouse were wrinkled, but she did not seem to care.

Quickly, he grabbed some papers that lay on the organ bench.

"What are these?" Margaret asked, catching the papers before he got a chance to move them out of her sight.

"Drawings."

"Of what…or whom?"

"Umm…" Erik began.

"May I see?"

_She is going to see them sooner or later… _He handed her the parchment-feeling papers.

From the first glance, she began to blush. _They're all of me!_ As she thumbed through the five drawings, she noticed that in every one of them (especially with her smiling), something was missing… "Erik?"

"Yes?"

"You seem to have forgotten my vampire teeth in every one of these."

"I did not forget. I simply chose not to draw them."

"Well, you know that they are an integral part of who I am," she said, her eyes downcast.

"Only physically." With the index finger on his right hand, he lifted up her chin so that she was looking him straight in the eyes.

A pregnant silence filled the lair. Suddenly, it felt as if time had slowed down so much it was almost standing still.

For the first time since her husband last touched her in 1527, she shuddered at a man's touch. The shudder sent pleasant chills down her pale back. Her heart began to beat faster and faster.

He was surprised at how warm and soft the skin on her face was when he touched her. He had always assumed that, since she was technically dead, her skin would be eternally chilled. Of course, the only times that he had really felt her skin were in the cold, nighttime air… Aside from that surprise, he was suddenly met with a flurry of emotions. _She looks so beautiful…so human…in this light. Am I… No, I cannot be. _

Finally, Margaret decided to break the silence. "There is no need for that mask around me any longer. You showed your…face to me last night."

Erik did not reply.

She slowly raised her left hand to the level of his forehead and gently removed the mask. After placing it on top of the organ, she cupped his right cheek in her hand.

His eyes traveled down to the organ bench and then back up to her blue eyes. He leaned over and pressed his lips to hers in a tender and loving kiss.

As the kiss began to deepen, she could feel her resistance to him melt away like the wax from the many candles that burned around her. Just as she thought she was about to "completely succumb to" him, something crossed her mind that was too large to stop. She broke the kiss swiftly and leapt up from the bench. "We cannot… I cannot! It is not possible!"

"What is not possible?" he asked, dazed.

"The…the…the whole your-lips-on-mine thing." She put her hand on her head as if to stop herself from fainting.

"Why not?"

"Should that not be obvious by now, Erik? I am an immortal condemned to walk the earth until the end of time. You will die in forty years or so. I will go on, preying on mortals as I have done for three-hundred years." A tear began to roll down her cheek as she turned back to face him.

He reached up to wipe it away, but she wouldn't let him.

"You…your life… It is so wonderful because you will not have to stay alive beyond your natural years. You will not see what will happen, say, a hundred years from now. Your life can be ended like this…" She snapped her fingers. "…which adds to the thrill of being human. I miss it so."

Erik opened his mouth to say something, but decided against it. Deciding, rather, to listen to the rest of her speech.

" 'Your heart is beautiful to me, even when you think that it is breaking', simply because it keeps your mortal life going. I am what I am. Nothing can change that, just as nothing can change the fact that you and I can never be what you want us to be."

"Then I can change," he said boldly as he stood up. "Make me like you, if that is the only way."

"You want me to make you like me?"

"If it is the only way."

"I cannot."

"And what is preventing you? You have bitten me once, why can you not do it again?"

"Close your eyes for your eyes will only tell the truth, And the truth isn't what you want to see," she sang softly, quoting his own song.

"What truth?"

"In the dark it is easy to pretend That the truth is what it ought to be."

"What truth?" he repeated.

"The truth of beings like myself. You think that you want to be like me because it will change the relationship that has been forged between us into what you want it to be. Before you decide that the eternal life of a vampire is what you want, why don't you come with me tonight when I go look for dinner?"

_It appears that I have no choice._

"Good. We leave at seven o'clock."

Erik stood in the shadows watching…

Margaret silently sunk her sharp teeth into the unsuspecting victim's neck. As she began to feed in her typical fashion, the victim's color began to rapidly change from rouge to pale to death white.

After a moment, the victim fell to the ground… Dead.

She wiped a small drop of blood off her face that had accidentally spilled.

His breath caught in his throat.

"So, is this still what you want?"


	14. Chapter 14

**Author's Note: Nope, don't own anything, except for Margaret, Michael (yes, I know he has all but disappeared), and Klaus. Don't own the lyrics mentioned in here, either. Each chapter brings us closer and closer to the end…**

**I NOW HAVE THIRTY REVIEWS! Special thanks are in order for Trier1974, who left the thirtieth review. This chapter, which is perhaps the most important in the story, is dedicated to you. **

**I have reached my goal in reviews for this story, but that does not give you the right to stop reviewing. Let's just see how many I can get. **

Chapter 14 

"So, is this still what you want?" Margaret asked, a smirk across her lips.

"I…"

"Need some time to think about it? Very well then, I will give you until we reach your organ again to make your decision. I am not a very patient vampiress."

_I have to decide how I want to spend eternity in the next five minutes?_

"As I said, I am not a very…"

"Patient vampiress, I know. Why must you do that?"

"What?" she asked as they began to walk back. "Read your thoughts to find out the answer to the question I just asked?"

"Yes."

"Simply because it is fun."

The rest of the walk back to the opera house was spent in utter silence, with Erik contemplating his decision.

_If I say that I do not want a life like hers after all, she will think me weak, which I am not. On top of that… Well… If I say 'Yes, make me a vampire', then I will never be able to eat food or drink wine again. My food and my wine will be blood. However, I will be able to not die…_

"All right, Erik, what will it be?" Margaret asked, touching the organ.

He exhaled deeply, then looked her square in the eye. "I have lost Christine. I will not loose you as well."

"If this decision is made because of her, I will personally go and kill her with my two bare teeth."

"It is not made on her account. I merely stated that I lost the one person that I thought I could love in my life to another man. I will not loose the second person that I thought I could love in my life, also."

She gasped. _He loves me? I should have known_. "So, your decision is made. You want to be as I am."

"Yes," he said firmly.

"Do you wish to see the sun one last time?"

"No. I thought that you knew about my past thoughts. Do you not know that I shunned the light long ago? 'Turn your face away From the garish light of day. Turn your thoughts away from the cold, unfeeling light…'"

Margaret nodded, her blonde curls shook with her. "So be it." Before Erik could do anything else, she quickly overtook him and sunk her teeth into his jugular vein.

He began to grow weaker every second as he felt his life force being drained from his powerful body.

His blood warmed her body, but she felt sick. By giving him what he desired, she broke her promise (again) never to harm him. Suddenly, she withdrew her teeth and beheld his ghost-like face. She grabbed a pocketknife from a nearby table and made a tiny incision in her own neck. Putting her hand under his head, she lifted him up. "This is all that stands between you and becoming _comme moi_."

Quickly, he latched onto her, knowing the depth of his commitment as soon as the first drop of her blood mingled with his flowed into his waiting mouth.

Margaret gently pulled his lips away from her and softly laid him on the cold floor. "Your mortal life is ending, Erik. A moment of pain, and then it is over."

He soon stood up, straightened his cravat, and looked around the lair as if he were seeing it all for the first time. His skin was deathly pale, and his veins were very visible. His green eyes had the same glow that Margaret's had. "_J'ai soif_," he whispered.

"Well, well, well…" She began with a smile. She began to circle him, running her fingers along his chest and back. "Look at you. What an intimidating vampire you make. I think you'll strike fear into the heart of anyone that crosses your path."

"Because of my face?" he asked as he felt the scarred right side of his face.

She sighed. "You thought that becoming immortal would take away your scars." _I should have known._ "No, not because of your face. Please, let us not begin this again."

"All right." He looked down at her. "Are you afraid?"

She began to laugh softly. "No, I am not."

"Good." Pulling her close to him, he pressed his cold lips to hers.

_Is it just me, or did something besides the obvious change occur? I think so… _"Hold on there. You seem to be forgetting something."

"What is that?"

Margaret poked his stomach. "Your first meal."

Erik half smiled. "Oh. That."

"It is a helpful thing. Come along, I have to show you how to use those pointy teeth of yours."

"Just a moment. I left a candle burning in Michael's room." He turned to go blow out the candle.

_MICHAEL!_ "Oh no!"

"What is it?"

"He cannot stay here any longer. We… I have to take him to the orphanage."

He turned back and put a hand on her shoulder.

"What have I done? Now neither of us are really alive and…and… I do not want to abandon him."

Erik sat her down on the Queen Anne couch. "You said yourself that he had no memory of his mother. Well, for the past few weeks, he has had one. I know you are not his real mother, but he does not know that. Thanks to you, he will have a memory of a woman he thinks was his mother for the rest of his life."

"I'll write a letter for the orphanage to give him…"

"No. Don't. How are you going to explain to him that you were not his real mother, but a three-hundred year old former wife to an English lord?"

Margaret sighed and looked at the floor. "You are right. Let's just take him to the orphanage. He needs a life, a life that neither of us can give to him now."

"Take good care of him, _madame_," she said, looking down at Michael for the last time. His blonde hair framed his face, giving the image that he was an angel.

"We will. You are his mother, _non_?"

"No, I am not. His father was killed some weeks ago. I attempted to care for him, but my situation has changed. I am no longer able to keep him with me. You must explain that to him when he is older, for he believes me to be his mother."

The old woman in the back door to the orphanage nodded.

"Thank you." Margaret turned and walked back to Erik, who was waiting in the alley.

He hugged her.

"That was the hardest thing I have ever done."

"I believe you."

"After we find someone for you to try your new teeth on, there is someone I want you to meet…" She smiled. "I think you will like him."

**J'ai soif I have thirst (here, though, it more means 'I thirst')**


	15. Chapter 15

**AN: (see longer AN at the end). For those who have been waiting for it, there is some fluff at the end of this. Don't own the lyrics used.**   
Chapter 15 

"Klaus? Klaus Hummel where are you? You are supposed to be here," Margaret said in a low whisper. She held her black cloak close to her chest and paced the familiar grass between the Louvre and the Seine.

"I am here," the redheaded vampire said, stepping out of the shadows. "Just as I promised. Now, what do you need?"

She smiled. "It's not what I _need_, it's what I _want_."

"Alright, Margaret dear… What do you _want_?"

"I want you to meet someone."

"Are they mortal?" he asked, licking his lips.

"Not anymore."

He stopped, a smirk spread across his face. "_Not anymore_? Does this mean that my little Maggie has gone and made another like herself?"

"Yes, Klaus, I have."

"It took you long enough, _je crois_."

"_Je le sais_." She motioned for Erik to come closer. "Klaus, I would like you to meet my 'prodigy and progeny'."

Klaus's green eyes grew wide as Erik stepped into view. _She has gone and turned The Phantom of the Opera_ _into a vampire…_

"Erik, _this_ is Klaus Hummel, the vampire who made me."

Erik stepped forward, extending his hand. "_Bonne soir_."

The other vampire took his hand and returned the courtesy. "Well, Margaret, I think that congratulations are in order for you. After over three hundred and fifty years, you have finally created someone in your image…in a manner of speaking."

"Yes I have," she said with a contented sigh.

Erik, clad in his usual attire—black pants, white shirt, vest, coat, cravat, and cape, cleared his throat to insinuate that it was time to go.

"Oh my. Klaus, I fear that it is time for us to be moving along." She smiled. "Erik hasn't 'eaten' yet."

Klaus nodded his red head, understanding the situation. "Well, you'd best be on your way then." He turned and looked at Erik once more. "It was nice meeting you, Erik."

"Likewise."

"Margaret," Klaus started. "Since you have found your prodigy and progeny, I suppose that you will be seeing less and less of me."

"It seems that way." She laced her fingers together with Erik's. "I am sorry, Klaus. I 'left the nest' quite a long time ago."

"I know. Teach him well, dear. If you need or want me, you know how to find me."

"_Merci_."

Tipping his hat, Klaus was gone.

"Come. It is time to teach you how to eat."

One Year Later… 

"Erik?" Margaret asked.

"Yes?"

"Have you ever thought of leaving this place? After all, it is a basement basically." Her blue eyes shone in the dark as they returned to the opera house after a meal.

"I have thought about leaving before." He pulled her closer to him. "But where would I go? Where would we go?"

She smiled. "Anywhere. Time is of no consequence, neither is money."

"I have always wanted to go to Rome…and Australia. America… Where would you like to go?"

"I have been to countless places already, so the location matters not. _Anywhere you go, let me go, too_."

Stopping in the middle of the street, Erik wrapped his strong arms around her. He held her as if he thought someone might take her away from him right there in the street. "I thought after _her_, it was over. Then, you showed up, defying everything I thought I knew. I thought that possibly, somehow, you could _lead me, save me from my solitude_. _Say you want me with you, here beside you. That's all I ask of you._"

She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him so passionately that it almost knocked him over.

"You have a particular place in mind to go?" he asked, breathlessly, when he broke the kiss.

"Let's go to Rome."

**Author's Note: AN at the end this time! I've changed it around. Woah…**

**After this, there will only be the epilogue left. Please be sure to read it, because it will provide some background, etc for the sequel.**

**A final word of thanks is in order (just so I don't forget it later). A million thanks to the reviewers that have been with me since chapter one. My first two reviews were from trisiana (hope I spelled that right). They got deleted because I took the story down completely once. Sorry about that. Since her two reviews and the initial revision of the story, faithful reviewers have been such people as Trier1974 and GerryLover15. You two, and people like you, have been the reasons that this story has continued. I wish I could thank everyone who reviewed personally, but there just isn't the time or space. **

**A word as to the sequel—yes, there will be one, as I have stated before. Now, I'm not giving away any specific details as to the plot (yes, there is one), but there are going to be a few hints as to the time frame in the epilogue. With some third-grade math and some basic knowledge of the twentieth century, one can figure out when it will take place. I do not know when I will get around to writing this because I will be starting my senior year of high school in a little less than two weeks. Those who have already been through this particular year will know the hundreds of things that one has to do during this important year. Plus, I've got two other stories just begging to be written: a _MASH _story, a _Mummy_ story, and a _Law and Order_ story. Just put me on your author alert / favorite list and await the sequel. Of course, you could read the other stories when they get put up.**

**Thanks again to everyone for everything. Once again, I do not own anything except for Margaret, Klaus, and little Michael (who is now out of the picture). I currently have the 2004 ALW movie playing on my portable DVD player with the sound coming out of my stereo (thanks to the cords included…). I just take one look at Gerard's cape and think how wonderful my cape will look (whenever I get around to sewing it together…black velvet and all…). Can run around house with paper mask humming… dun dum dun da de de da dum da de… **

**Jen**


	16. Epilogue

**Author's Note: Well, this is the end. Thank you all for being the best reviewers I've ever had. You all have given me the courage to post more stories up here (once they're at least started). Yes, I know a lot of stories have ended like this… But this one is different. **

**Don't forget, put me on your author alert / favorite list and check back for the sequel (or any other stories I write that might interest you).**

Epilogue Paris, 1919 

"We came all the way back to Paris so you could put a flower on _her_ grave?" Margaret asked, folding her arms and looking out the carriage window into the night.

"I simply want to say goodbye."

"All right. I think we're here."

Erik stepped from the carriage and helped Margaret to exit as well. He took her hand in his, which was covered with his traditional leather gloves.

"Say whatever you want to her. I promise I will not read your thoughts."

"Thank you." Erik leaned over the tombstone. He read the name—Christine de Chagny. "Beloved Wife and Mother". He placed a rose tied with his usual black ribbon on the cold granite.

_I do not know if I shall ever see you again, especially now that I am immortal. Whatever happens next, you will always be in my heart. You will always be an angel to me now. I must let you know, however, that I have found someone that I **really can** spend eternity with. Of course, it is predicated on whether or not she wants to… I think she does. Christine, dear, I'm returning the ring you gave me that night. I know it's a little late. I need to let go. I love Margaret now, as I have done for over thirty years now. It would be very…awkward for me to still be carrying **your** ring around with her. _A bittersweet smile crossed his full lips. _Goodbye Christine. _

He stood up and turned back to Margaret.

"Finished?"

Erik nodded. "Where to now?"

"I was thinking of putting my coffin in a house I have owned for forever down in Florence and sleeping for a few years."

"Why?"

"I grow weary of this age. It's decadence and wars make me long for rawness and peace. I want to go to sleep and wake up when the music is really from the people, not this opera meant for the upper-class." She paused to think. "Assuming that nothing goes wrong, what would you say to us meeting up in say…forty-five years?"

He mulled it over for a few moments. "Sounds like an idea." He drew her into a hug.

"Well, the sooner we get back to Florence…"

"Yes. One question, though."

"What?"

He smiled. "I've grown accustomed to not sleeping alone. Should we both pile in your coffin or mine?"

Shaking her head with a grin across her lips, Margaret gave him a quick kiss.


End file.
